The Golden Circuit
The fire that consumed the upper floor of St. Jude’s Orphanage began, as my father later told the inquest, with a spark, a trivial and invisible thing that caught in the dry thatch of the roof where the rain had long since ceased to find its way through the eaves. I was in the basement, in the room we called the Cellar because it was where the light went to die, surrounded by the smell of damp...
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